


(not time for) mercy

by Hymn



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fighting, Kissing, Relationship Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, edging into non-con territory, negotiating a sexual and romantic relationship at sword point?, pirate!elizabeth has had enough of this??, pirates!, quibbling over the validity of marraige?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-07
Updated: 2007-04-07
Packaged: 2019-03-31 22:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13984941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: The last time Will touched her was to wipe her tears away, eyes dark in the flickering candles, fingers gentle and callused against her salt stained cheeks; and then there was nothing.





	(not time for) mercy

**Author's Note:**

> springkink fic

He hasn’t touched her once since they left Tia Dalma’s, with Barbossa a smirking and uncomfortable addition to their already motley crew. The last time Will touched her was to wipe her tears away, eyes dark in the flickering candles, fingers gentle and callused against her salt stained cheeks; and then there was nothing. 

If she thinks about it, she can remember the closed look to his face, the way he hadn’t quite looked her in the eye. Even then, when touching her, he hadn’t really been _touching_ her. 

It left Elizabeth burning. She hadn’t even gotten her wedding night.

But in her dreams she sees Jack’s grin, and when she looks at people, she thinks she can catch glimpses of Tia Dalma’s knowing eyes, and when she grips the railing of their ship, she feels the cold steel of manacles beneath her hands. It makes her sick; for all that she was supposed to be a lady, grew up the governor’s daughter, wore fancy dresses and was courted by highly ranking military officers, she feels less. Next to Will’s stiff-backed, unrelenting morality and genuine _goodness_ , Elizabeth feels like the worst scum. Feels like she should be hanging, maybe, from the gallows.

Pirate, Jack called her. Well, Jack had been right about a lot more impossible things, before.

*

Elizabeth fights to forget. She takes the little nicks, the slices, the bruises, and every time Will falters, she snarls, “Again.” Maybe it’s guilt, and she takes the hurt as punishment; or maybe it’s out of a need to escape, to find freedom; or maybe it’s both of these and neither, maybe respect, and maybe she becomes more and more like the pirate she sacrificed.

Maybe it’s because Will won’t fight her outright.

Maybe, if she thrusts sharp enough, parries hard enough, he won’t feel the need to.

*

When they fight, it’s like the courtship they never had: harsh, violent, passionate, so different from the strange, bumbling tenderness of before, knife-bright, but cautious. They grit their teeth and ignore their quivering muscles and barrel straight on, dancing across the ocean sands, across the rolling deck. Now they’re fighting not quite like their lives depend upon it, but, instead, maybe for something even more sacred. 

*

They are steadily getting closer to the End of the World, when Elizabeth finally snaps, and whirls on Will to ask, “Am I not desirable?” She can’t stand still, and her eyes are wide, and probably a little wild. “Will? Do you not find your betrothed desirable?”

“I find you many things, Miss Elizabeth.” Elizabeth flinches at the honorary title, and makes a frustrated movement. The night is cool, and Will’s hands are steady on the wheel, eyes shifting from compass to sky to ocean, and back again.

“I know what this is about.” She shouldn’t be bothering him, but with the moonlight shining down from a cloudless night, he is achingly beautiful, all stubbornness and strong features, broad, set shoulders; wisps of his long hair curl sweetly against the curve of his cheek. Elizabeth jerks her chin up, and plants herself on the opposite side of the wheel, fists on hips, so she can stare directly at him.

“Oh, then by all means,” Will says quietly, and Elizabeth can only just pick up the scathing edge to it. “Do enlighten me.”

“Fine.” For a moment, she can’t say it. Her jaw works, and the night is quiet, and Will is a tangled mess of emotions – anger, betrayal, love, longing, sadness – on the edge of her being. His eyes look like stars when they finally settle on her, and she says, with a calm and nonchalance that is entirely feigned, “It’s because I kissed him.”

Will is silent for a long moment, and Elizabeth does not back down. “You kissed him.” There is no inflection to his voice; it’s a simple statement, unaffected – if it weren’t for the fact that Elizabeth knows him, recognizes the tic in his face that gives him away. He checks the compass, realigns just slightly, and turns to her again. “You _kissed_ him.”

This time, it’s a little accusatory, just what Elizabeth wants. She says, stern and bull headed and defiantly determined, “How do you know I wasn’t fulfilling his dying request?” It makes her feel dirty, like she should vomit, and suddenly the calm rocking of the waters beneath their vessel makes her nauseous; but she refuses to lose Will, who has always been the beautiful peace of calm waters, whose eyes reflect the limitless sky. Will, who holds in his very existence her freedom, and her downfall.

*

After that, it’s a little better. They are still fighting as hard and desperate as ever, but afterward Will slowly smoothes a curl down into her braid, or helps her bandage a cut, fingers lingering on her skin too long. It’s a start, and all it does is make Elizabeth hunger for more.

*

One day, she disarms him. Disarming Will Turner is not an easy task, for the most lessoned men in fencing, and Elizabeth feels a fierce sense of pride that she has managed it, beneath a hot sun, on white sands, with an uncertain future trembling just over the horizon. 

They should be at the End of the World by the end of the week, and this was the last island they could stop at. The crew was probably getting roaring drunk, making camp close to the ship. Elizabeth and Will weren’t with them, however, when she wins the match, and pressed the tip of her sword against Will’s vulnerable neck. He swallows, and there is no one but she and a few birds to witness it.

She rasps, “I want my wedding night.”

A statement Jack would probably approve of, she thinks with a dark humor. Will is flushed and panting and a touch wide eyed cautious. He’s beautiful, and Elizabeth is going to die if she doesn’t douse the flames tormenting her. She needs this, and nothing is going to deny her what she has wanted for so long. Not even the End of the World.

Her sword slices through his shirt as she trails it, as lightly and carefully as her trembling hand can manage. His bronzed chest is revealed, and Elizabeth’s mouth goes dry at the way the sun shines off the sweat streaked there, over rippling muscles. Her sword moves on, attacking belt and trousers. This is too dangerous for her to be doing, and she hears his startled, caught breath that she has something so sharp near his vulnerable bits. But that’s her prize, and there’s no way she would ruin him like that. The thought makes her physically ill.

“I want my husband,” she tells him steadily. “I want him to hold me. I want him to touch me. I want him to love me. I want him inside of me.”

Will’s voice is tight when he replies. “So demanding, Elizabeth Swann.”

“Turner,” she snaps. “Elizabeth Turner.”

“We were-”

“Technicalities!” For a moment she is frozen, torn between throwing her weapon down and peeling his shredded clothing off herself, or keeping him at sword point. She keeps him at sword point, and gestures with her other hand, eyes hungry on his dark brown hair, on the lines and shadows of his musculature. “It’s close enough for me, Will Turner. We’ve been married through trials and personal vows, if not by some pompous fool who thinks his word is law. Now take your clothes off. I don’t want to waste a minute.”

She pressed the sword just hard enough to draw blood from the hollow in his neck, and Will’s eyes narrow dangerously, but he obeys. He’s just as beautiful naked as she’d imagined, and more so, hard and lean. “Good,” she says, stepping closer. Her sword drops to the ground, and her hands are sliding down Will’s chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart; their breath is mingling, and Elizabeth can’t remember who moved first, if it was Will bending down, or Elizabeth leaning up, but now they’re lip to lip and almost kissing, but not.

“Parley,” Will breathes, and Elizabeth says, “No,” like she can’t believe it’s even an option to discard.

*

The first kiss tastes like how they fight, a wild, mad rush and tangle of tongues and teeth. Elizabeth savors it like a pirate sailing over rocking waves, one who has finally, finally come home.


End file.
